


Mojave

by Archaeo2020



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeo2020/pseuds/Archaeo2020
Summary: War. War never changes. In the year 2281, the Mojave Wasteland is on the brink. The army of the New California Republic finds itself stretched thin as countless raider factions vie for control of the area surrounding New Vegas, while an army of slavers fashioned after an ancient empire lies in wait across the Colorado. Life in the Mojave is short, violent, and wrought with struggle. Michael Ortega is a courier with the Mojave Express, one of five tasked with delivering a series of peculiar packages to the enigmatic Mr. House, proprietor of the New Vegas Strip. And this delivery has taken a turn for the worst.
Kudos: 1





	Mojave

"You got what you were after, so pay up". The words echoed through Mike's brain as he slowly regained consciousness. He was bound and on his knees, with three men standing in front of him. Two of them wore the traditional armor of the Great Khans, and the third wore a garish checkered suit.

"You're crying in the rain, paley," the man in the suit- presumably the leader- said. _Paley? What the hell kind of a word is paley? _Mike thought to himself.__

__The other Khan spoke up. "Hey, look who's waking up over here!"_ _

__The leader glanced over to Mike. "Time to cash out."_ _

__The first Khan spoke again. "Would you get it over with?"_ _

__The man in the suit waved his hand to cut the Khan off. "Maybe Khans kill people without looking 'em in the face, but I ain't a fink. Dig?" Mike tried to speak, but the gag in his mouth turned the words into pathetic grunts._ _

__"You've made your last delivery, kid," the leader said, looking down at Mike. The man slid Mike's package- an oversized poker chip- into his checkered vest and drew an engraved 9mm handgun. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene. From where you're sitting, this must seem like an eighteen-karat run of bad luck. But the truth is"- he pointed the pistol at Mike's head- "The game was rigged from the start._ _

__There was a flash, and everything went black._ _


End file.
